


ghosts, ghosts, ghosts

by Shampain



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M, Halloween, Killian gets drunk on rum and chocolate, Male-Female Friendship, Storybrooke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 12:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5090732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shampain/pseuds/Shampain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes he saw her at the end of the street, and she would turn to look at him. Her gaze was like a puff of chill wind on the back of his neck.</p><p>-</p><p>Killian wrestles with his love for Emma amidst Halloween celebrations, which involves a funhouse built by the Dark One herself. Meant to sit vaguely during the beginning of S5.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ghosts, ghosts, ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something Halloween-y, and decided to tackle my first try at Captain Swan. I hope you like, and Happy Halloween <3

Autumn had its own bite. Killian felt it worming under his clothes. When he complained, Ruby simply rolled her eyes. “Then button your shirt up,” she'd replied.

But of course, it wasn't that. He watched the leaves turn, their green replaced by bright orange and yellow. It had been glorious until one night the wind had erupted from the east, stripping the trees bare. He wondered if it had been Emma. But he also wondered if she was outside of her mind long enough to even notice the weather at all.

Sometimes he saw her at the end of the street, and she would turn to look at him. Her gaze was like a puff of chill wind on the back of his neck.

 

Belle had made it seem so easy, loving someone who had succumbed to the darkness. “It was different,” she said, to console him. She had woken the man inside the beast after a long, deep slumber; but the real Emma seemed encased inside a shell, content to remain there, perhaps dreaming of warmer days. Killian could not help but blame himself for being unable to inspire her to hatch.

It was easier to lose himself in words, sometimes literally instead of figuratively. He and Belle spent time at the library together buried among the books, drinking coffee from Granny's and eating small chocolates in small wrappers that they bought in bags at the grocery store. “Save some for the kids to hand out tomorrow night,” she scolded. Killian gave her a rebellious look, and shoved another Kit Kat into his mouth. Just like Ruby, she rolled her eyes.

 

Emma's parents didn't seem to blame him for his inability to fix Swan. Instead when he dropped by to visit their loft he was treated to a place swathed with fake spiderwebs, bats cut out of paper, bowls of gleaming candy.

They were concerned with Emma, of course, but not at the expense of ignoring their other child. “We thought it might be fun, to get into the spirit of things, keep our surroundings happy,” Mary Margaret said, in a voice that suggested it was actually David's idea and she had been swayed to his side, somewhat unwillingly. Both of them were swathed in robes of white and gold, like ancient gods.

Baby Neal, though, was swaddled up in a pumpkin cozy. Killian dutifully leaned over to admire him. “Cute little blighter,” he said. Mary Margaret gave him a _look_ from underneath her ivy headdress at what he presumed was his apparent lack of tact.

Really, she'd gotten so boring once she'd had her new sprog.

He thought about Emma, wondering if she'd ever done this strange thing, this Halloween, when she was growing up. Probably; but she probably also had a sad story about it, too. He ached to ask her. But she was buried, hidden beneath that shroud that was the Dark One. Buried alive. No longer screaming to get out.

He refused to follow that line of thought to its logical ending.

 

He headed over to Granny's for lunch. Ruby was there, done up in the most colourful array, like a butterfly in a sea of dead grass. He had started to talk with her because she was a firm friend of Belle's. Ruby had inspired her when she had first left Gold, first tried to find her own way. Had made sure she had a place to stay, a warm meal in her belly, a kind smile. This town was strange, full of royalty, but from what Killian could see it was the wolf, with her too sharp teeth and lupine walk, who took lost children by the hand and led them home.

Killian felt lost, these days more than ever.

She sat down beside him at the counter, barely needing to hop up on the stool before crossing her ankles. “How're you doing, pirate?” she asked. “I see that one button on your shirt is still hanging on.”

He knew she meant well, but he was so, so tired. He stayed up late at night, looking at the stars. He missed them. He missed the carefree life he'd once had, out on the open water.

“Aren't you supposed to be working?” he asked.

She poured him coffee, suddenly stiff in response to his tone. “I'll get you a burger and fries,” she said, dryly. “I'll hold the salt. You seem salty enough.”

“Ruby-” but she was already swaying off.

Later, she left him a Kit Kat with the bill. So he supposed he wasn't in too much trouble.

 

Down by the docks, something new had emerged. Tall and grotesque, painted in slapdash shades of yellow and red and orange and black. A masked face peered out above a forbidding doorway. _Funhouse_ it whispered. _Fun fun fun_.

No one dared go inside.

As the light dimmed and the streets had a flurry of activity in the form of brightly dressed children, Killian turned towards a bottle of rum. Belle was absent but Ruby stayed, her shift over but still standing on the other side of the counter, cutting up limes. She slid him a small Kit Kat. It was becoming his default sin, next to the liquor, next to Emma.

“How're you holding up, you scoundrel?” she asked, gently, with a smile so brittle it looked like it might shatter to the ground. He wondered what she ate with those teeth. Could she splinter bone, even now? Puncture skin and tear flesh? Such a pretty thing?

He knocked back the glass of rum, and she poured him another mouthful, adding a tiny dash of lime. “I'm not holding anything,” he said. “Only got the one hand, and I'm using that to drink.”

“Such a useful way to spend your time.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What're you trying to say, Red?”

“I didn't mean it like that.”

“No?”

“No.” And she looked at him, considering. They were both thinking the same thing.

 

Out in the streets with the taste of chocolate and rum in his mouth, his head swimming. The moon burned in the sky overhead. Emma was bundled up in black, her hair pale and unearthly. Her red lips were like a gash, welling up with blood. She waited for him outside the flower shop, holding out her hand and smiling. Killian was too cowardly to do anything but take it and walk with her down towards the docks.

“Something's on your mind,” she observed.

_He was talking to a ghost._

“I've been thinking about this Halloween thing,” he said, though, really, trying not to think about anything at all. “Did you do all of this, when you were a child?”

“Sure.”

“Did you like it?”

A little smile touched her mouth. “It was nice to eat candy I hadn't stolen. It was nice to be given something, for a change.”

“Seems an interesting thing. Dress up as something you aren't, get a free candy. Rather extortionist.”

“Sometimes you dress as something you are, inside. Or want to be. Or start to become.”

“Did you dress as the Dark One, then?” He meant it to sound teasing, but it came out more bitter than he expected. She gave him a sly look.

“A witch,” she chuckled. “An easy costume for a poor kid to cobble together. Almost easier than a vampire.”

She squeezed his hand. She was so warm. If only he could put his arms around her, bundle her against him like he used to. She used to be frightened of her power and now she was swimming in it; he felt guilty for wishing she had her fear back.

The funhouse loomed on the horizon. He knew that she had built it, of course; no one else would expend such power. As they approached, the queen was standing before it, considering. She was a sharp-figured silhouette in a pencil skirt and slim jacket, heels against the pavement like a tree taking root. For all the disagreements he'd had with her in the past, he did still admire her style.

“This,” she announced, “Is garish.”

Emma took up her position beside Regina. Suddenly, Killian felt like an extraneous limb, so he stood behind them, wishing to be forgotten. “It's a funhouse, Regina,” she said. “Have a little _fun_.”

“What's in there? Skin masks and butchered pigs?”

Emma parted her bloody-coloured lips. “The truth,” she answered. “Something we could all use, can't we, Regina?”

“Then why don't you give us our memories back?”

Instead of answering, she turned on her heel and held out her hand for Killian. Despite his instincts screaming at him to leave, he took her hand, and together they went up the rickety wooden steps.

He hated how much he trusted her.

 

It was dark inside, the lighting sparse. The air was scented with raw pumpkin and decaying leaves and it pressed in on all sides, suffocating. He gripped her hand tightly and she pulled him close and smiled against his cheek.

“Nothing scary in here,” she whispered.

Further inside, the floors began to move. He watched Emma dance from spot to spot, starting to laugh. The walls seemed to move, too, the world warping and twisting. Wonderland all over again.

“Is this all you, love?” he asked, as they darted quickly through a rotating tunnel. She fell against him and he steadied her, and they hopped out of it before they ended up crashing to the floor.

She didn't answer, just pulled him forward. Perhaps she'd learned that if she dallied with him, she might be forced to answer his questions.

Killian stumbled and stopped right before colliding with himself. He righted, holding out his arm, his hook just missing scraping down the mirror's surface, slashing at his own reflection.

Emma pressed against his back, nosing the nape of his neck. Her breath chilled him, like that wind of autumn. All around them, the distorted shapes of their reflections loomed and shrank, shivered in the odd light like ghosts. Killian stared into the mirror before them, though, saw Emma prop her chin on his shoulder and gaze solemnly back.

“The truth, Hook,” she whispered. “Where do we find it in anything but ourselves? There it is. Look at us.”

In the mirror her skin looked warmer, her hair more golden. Killian closed his eyes, felt her hands slide beneath his coat. “It's not real, Swan,” he said. “You can bend vision all you want, but it's not reality.”

“Sure it is. All reality is, is the world we choose to see.”

He turned, almost colliding with her. “No more games, Swan,” he said. Begged, really.

She placed her hands against his cheeks. “I love you, Killian,” she whispered. “It's not a game.”

He wanted to believe her.

“I want to believe you,” he whispered.

“Then _see me_ ,” she urged.

Her kiss burned and tasted sour and sweet, like candy. When he pulled her close she reached beneath his shirt, nails scraping against his skin. He wanted to be with her. He wanted her more than anything. Even though it wasn't really _her_.

In the mirrors, in different worlds, a dozen Killians embraced a dozen Emmas. Ghosts, ghosts, ghosts. Maybe it was real somewhere else, maybe in the land of the dead.

 

“You've got... something...” Ruby reached out and smoothed her thumb against his jaw. He flinched away and it came back red. Red like blood, red like Emma's mouth. The sound of the other people in the diner were like an odd background noise, a strange and lilting music.

She smiled tightly and rubbed the lipstick off on her apron. Her long dark hair fell around her face like a curtain. The bell chimed as the door opened and closed.

“Hello,” Belle chimed. A few leaves and a gasp of wind came in with her, a huff that felt like the whisper of a terrible secret. Dangling from her hand was a glass dome encasing a single rose. Ruby poured her a beer; very recently, Killian had been pleasantly surprised to discover his new friends could drink like fish. “Happy Halloween.”

“Aye,” Killian said, elbow on the counter, nestling his cheek against his palm. He stared at the rose now gracing the counter, next to the grinning jack-o-lantern. He wondered what it would be like, to carry your devotion around like a physical thing, instead of burying it deep inside of you; bones underground. He could still taste the ghost of Emma in his mouth. “Happy Halloween.”


End file.
